What is Trust?
by Lynn Cheshire
Summary: A ficlet written for a challenge. A young Grima and a young Eomer talk.


What is Trust?  
  
Lynn Cheshire (eirynhjayde@shirelight.net)  
  
Notes: Written for Ringprov (http://www.livejournal.com/community/ringprov) challenge #2. First time ever writing for any sort of challenge, I rather enjoyed the process. I've never written these characters before so I'm not sure how this will sound to others with a firmer grasp on them.  
  
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Rain was falling from the sky covering Edoras in a grey shadow, streets were flooded and resembled serpents as the water rippled over them. It was more rain than young Grima could ever remember seeing in his short life of 17 years. Sheets of rain rippling like wash on the line.  
  
'Such an amusing way to put it' he mused, 'why sheets? Why not blankets? Or even cloaks?'  
  
It was nearing midnight and Grima knew he should probably be heading off to bed like everyone else had done hours ago. Grima was in no mood to sleep though; he was quite content to stand on the balcony, watching the rain fall, getting soaked to the bone in the process.   
  
A soft noise behind him startled him out of his contemplations. He whirled around and came face-to-face with Eomer. "Oh, it's you," he said in a less than pleased manner. "Come to tease me again are you?" he asked bitterly.  
  
Eomer gave him a half grin and walked over to stand beside him, leaning heavily on the balcony. "Really Grima," his voice was laced with poorly concealed amusement, "yellow is a perfect colour for you."  
  
"I don't care if it is her birthday I'm not wearing canary *yellow* while you get to wear forest green."  
  
Eomer laughed, "Eowyn has the best intentions in mind, I'm sure."  
  
Grima gave him a doubtful look but decided not to argue the subject any further. He turned his face to Eomer and began to watch the way the water ran through his hair like liquid silver, down his youthful yet already toughening face, then to fall freely down to the streets below. Eomer covered in rain was a rather pleasing image. He dreaded to break the comfortable silence between them but could not help himself. "I thought everyone was in bed."  
  
"I couldn't sleep." Eomer replied shortly.  
  
"Had the dream again?" Grima gave Eomer a searching look, concern burning brightly in his eyes.   
  
Eomer nodded, closing his eyes tightly. "I feel as if a great shadow were approaching me, I keep seeing Theodred, lying cold and lifeless in a tomb, and then the king, withered and dying, holds out a sword with the blade facing me. Blood pours down it from his cut wrist and even his tears turn to blood. He tries to tell me something, something I know is deeply important but all that I hear is a piercing scream ringing in my head and everything turns to darkness." Eomer was gripping the balcony railing so tightly that his knuckles had turned a milky white.  
  
Grima reached out and placed a hand over Eomer's. "It could be only a dream you know..." He began, not believing what he was saying for a moment, knowing that neither did Eomer. He still felt compelled to comfort him.   
  
Eomer's face softened at the touch. He turned his hand around and grasped Grima's tightly. He reopened his eyes and looked down at their entwined fingers. It was funny how a person's hands could tell a story, what kind of life the person lived, how they spent most of their time, whether they were an artist or a warrior. His and Grima's hands told very different stories. His were thick, rough, and callused while Grima's were narrow, soft, and ink stained; yet they looked somehow right laced together like that, like they completed each other. Eomer felt a sharp stab of guilt; he hadn't told his friend his entire dream, how Grima had whispered poisoned words into Eowyn's ears, how he had laughed over Theodred's death and caused the King to turn on him. It was too painful to think of, let alone speak aloud to the only other person who believed it was more than a dream.  
  
Grima studied Eomer's face, a flicker of some frail emotion passed over it before vanishing. When it was gone Eomer looked up at him, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then hastily closed it again. "What is it?"  
  
"It's...it's nothing." Eomer replied, a forced smile gracing his troubled face.   
  
Grima's free hand went up and touched Eomer's face gently. "You'd tell me if there was something more, right?" The words fell from his lips, sounding strangely sinister to his ears. He bit his tongue, hopping that Eomer had not noticed the note of malice.  
  
If he did he certainly didn't show it. He closed his eyes and leaned into Grima's touch. He gave his friend's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it and bringing his arms around Grima's waist, pulling him close into a desperate embrace.   
  
Grima tentatively returned the hug, his arms wrapping around Eomer's broad frame, one hand reaching up and resting amongst his soaked hair. "Don't worry," he whispered softly in Eomer's ear. "I'll always be here, you can always trust me." 


End file.
